


death & the maiden

by sophthebi



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Death, Death and the Maiden vibes, F/M, Hades and Persephone inspired, Lust, it doesn't really have any plot, just a little thing i did for michael, michael kinda being creepy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 21:15:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21308722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophthebi/pseuds/sophthebi
Summary: Michael is left trapped in his reality of eternal winter, yearning for Mallory to return from her eternal spring.
Relationships: Michael Langdon/Mallory
Comments: 14
Kudos: 41





	death & the maiden

**Author's Note:**

> so, this is melodramatic or way too flowery but i was in a mood hahaha  
Michael is canonically over the top so i feel like it works XD  
A big inspiration for this was the movie "Quills", especially a specific scene where Joaquin's character mourns over Kate's character's death.

Myrtle was easy to kill, she didn’t try hard to fend him off, a flick of his hand and a toxic feeling in his bones, her head gone like Madison’s. One look at Cordelia’s body down the stairwell, he knew that Mallory was the next supreme, and whatever spell she had performed would reverse everything. Michael smiled, anticipating the erasure of his simmering pain. It was going to be over soon. 

Yet it never came. 

All quiet and lonely.

The bathtub seemed empty, and perhaps it was, but Michael slipped his hand in regardless of what his skin would touch, body screaming out for company, dead or alive. Screaming for a young supreme in particular. 

A gasp fell from his lips when he felt her body. Not empty after all.

The young witch was lifeless, as he had expected. 

He pulled her out of the tub without much effort, drenched in black liquid, but no longer wounded. He cradled her in his lap, entranced by her parted lips and dead eyes. She really was lovely to look at it, even with no pulse. Where she had gone, for some reason he didn’t ponder upon, only her brown eyes and shapely lips.

They were sad eyes she had, something he had noticed on multiple occasions. Longing and grief. Abandonment and failure. Always wet with tears, or the beginning of them. Fragile and on the precipice at all times. 

He dragged the pads of his fingertips down the slope of her delicate nose, her skin warm and cold at once. He wet his lips with his own tears and then his tongue, unsure of what to do, mourning for her. 

“It’s a shame I never met you before this,” he said, hopeful that wherever she was, if she had succeeded, that she’d hear him in a dream state, hopeful that his words would echo to wherever she was, and haunt her for as long as she lived. 

He adjusted her head in his lap, catching all the shadows and light on her features. He wondered what she would look like under sun, or under star and moonlight. He imagined that her eyes would appear as liquor under day, and black as coal in darkness. Her hair chestnut and sweet. He imagined it down, waves and shining. What did she wear before her capture?

His palm reached the side of neck, gently holding her like she was a doll. 

A white dress, fit for an angel. Golden crown and jewels. She’d wear the darkest shadow on her eyelids, and the coolest pink on her lips. His finger caressed her thin bottom lip thinking about all the ways she’d look if she were alive, imagining the feeling of slow breaths escaping her mouth. 

“Mallory…” 

He whispered her name over and over as he undid the bun atop her head. Wet hair plummeted down over her shoulders and his thighs. He brushed the knots out with his fingers, although there weren’t many.

Michael wanted her so badly to awaken. For her skin to flush, and her chest to rise and fall, her lips to press together, for her tongue to wet the dryness of them. For her tears to fall so perfectly as they did when she told him she didn’t know who she was. He wanted her to look at him with the instinct and primal fear she had when he took hold of her arm. He wanted to feel the warmth of her fire. 

Ever since she first spoke in the library, he had wanted her. 

And he would have her. 

Some way. 

He’d steal her lost soul from whatever realm she resided in, and he’d keep her in the eternal winter he created. 

“You’re mine, Mallory,” Michael whispered into the top of her hair, breathing in her flowery scent. 

She was destined to be his the moment he set eyes on her.


End file.
